The black band
by awilla the hun
Summary: A tale of my own fantasy army. A powerful wizard raises an army of mercenaries for one purpose only... the Nemesis Crown! I do not own any copyrights, nor do I intend to offend anyone. Now enjoy!
1. The Beginning

Even now, the tales are told. Across the realms of men, and dwarf, when the tables at the taverns are occupied, the tankards are emptying, and the night is growing old, someone- usually an old, scarred man, possessed of very few teeth and lost limbs-raises his drink and gets to his feet. He cries out that he will now tell the tale of "The Black Band."

The drinkers and staff are silent for a moment. Even the barman's huge mastiff dog stops barking for a brief second. They have all heard the legends: about one of the greatest mercenary army of all, founded in an act of reckless daring by an insane alchemist, attracting a band of the mad and the vengeful, the bitter and the evil, the noble and the pious, before going off to search for an artefact that would have provided him control of the world. Still, they shudder at how close the Wizard- Harriot, wasn't that his name? Or perhaps Chariot- got to his goal. Him and his band of cut throats, after fighting through man and orc and chaos worshipping demon. And the old man smiles knowingly, orders another pint, and begins his tale of treachery and bloodshed; of darkest villainy and greatest heroism.

The tale of the Black band.


	2. The wizard

The herald leapt up on to the cart in the middle of Altdorf's _Magicksplatz_. He looked around himself nervously, took in the massively tall spires before him, and cleared his throat. No man associated with wizards if he could help it, but it was most certainly his job. And no scion of Hulwitz could be said to be neglecting his job, no sir!

He cleared his throat again, unfurled his scroll, and shouted out.

"Hear ye! Hear ye!" He waited for a moment. A few doors opened, a handful of robed men emerged, but the plaza remained in its sinister silence.

The herald shrugged, and carried on.

"By the order of the Emperor Karl Franz, may Sigmar smile upon him, the following persons are to report to the Reikschlosse at nine of the clock tonight. Master von Perrelschlecht of the Bright College. Master Maastricht of the Gold College…" The herald read on, idly noticing just how many master magicians the Emperor had seen fit to speak to. He suppressed a shudder, finished talking and closed his scroll, leapt off the cart and began to walk.

When he was sure no one was watching, the walk turned to a run.

Master Maastricht leant back in his chair and examined the four men seated before him closely. His hand curled around the golden goblet clenched in his hand. The wine, a fine Bretonnian white, seemed to positively glow. Much like the rest of the room, in fact; in the Master's view, no true Gold magician felt safe without metals around him. And it was a proven fact the Gold was the greatest of all.

The five men in the room all knew this. They were amongst the finest magicians in the Empire, the Master of the lore of Gold and his four personal acolytes. These men could potentially turn every scrap of lead in the Empire to gold if they so desired. But of course, only the crudest and least refined of men decided to take that desperate option to support themselves when there were so many more… subtle methods.

"Gentlemen," the Master grated. He had managed to turn his face to gold in an accident, and despite his best efforts, could only just move his lips. Alas, he had yet to obtain the blessedness of Herr Gelt, but unlike his Patriarch, the master had not devised the means to survive without any sustenance. "Last night," he continued, "I was called to audience with the Emperor himself. Alongside other great men of our ability, along with Master Gustav of the Jade College"- this provoked polite chuckles- "His Highness explained that a great and powerful artefact has been found." The gold faced man paused for effect. "The Nemesis Crown. We are to aid the Imperial forces in getting it, and are also to prove it safe to be worn. And if not, we are to destroy it, of course. Now, it is a singular honour that has been granted to us, practitioners of the higher arts-"

One of the wizards coughed politely to gain the Master's attention. "Master," he asked politely, "What is it that this artefact is rumoured to do?"

"Why do you ask this… Harriot, isn't it?" The wizard nodded.

"Thomas Harriot, sir."

"Your voice is Bretonnian," the master said accusingly.

"Yes, sir. My family grew up in Guisoreux. My father was a merchant banker," the wizard added by was of explanation.

The master grunted approvingly. Storing gold for later use was a subject which he, like all alchemists, dwarves and shop keepers, appreciated. "But you found the gift later?"

"Indeed so, sir."

"But I digress. Why do you wish to know official state secrets, before you have even glimpsed the damn Crown?" the master said, an anger slowly building within him. Damn it, but that man was wasting time! Especially as, owing to his position as master of an order which was devoted to metal artefacts, he should be the one who had the crown!

"Well, sir," the younger wizard replied coolly, " I ask only to acquire information which may… be useful to proving its safety for the greater good of humankind. After all, is that not why the Emperor commissioned us to pacify it?"

Resisting the temptation to retort loudly and spout out some tirade about insolence and knowing your betters, the master nodded his head. "Documents pertaining to the Crown are available in the archives, if you should care to look at them." There was a barb hidden beneath the comment. Everyone knew that Harriot had only ever gotten to his position of prominence after five years of service in the 78th regiment of fusiliers in the Countess of Nuln's armies and, having been given a military recommendation by one Colonel von Burnhyde as a man of sound and stout hearted character, had risen up. The joke was that anyone recommended by a soldier must have been recommended by an illiterate idiot, and therefore the wizard was also a man of similar character.

The other three wizards tittered sycophantically. Harriot nodded. "Very well, sir, I will indeed pursue this course of action. But now I must leave. Good night, gentlemen. May all your elixirs be gold," he finished in the formal manner, before standing up and walking out of the room, delicately closing the gilt door behind him.

"And may your coal be diamonds," the others chorused at the door. They then turned back to the impassive face of the master.

"A crude man," the golden head said. "Lacking in every important sense apart from heritage." The other three nodded in almost precise unison, utterly oblivious to just how wrong they were. For Thomas Harriot was, in fact, even as he walked home to his modest terraced house in Magnusplatz, planning. In his mind were the beginnings of a scheme that, even as the other wizards droned on in to the night, could change the course of world history. The beginnings of the black band, on a stormy night in the middle of August, were starting to form.

And the drums of war, echoing the thunder outside the mage's window as he wrote and thought, began to beat.

"This plan," Harriot said to himself, "requires three key ingredients. I hope that you are noting this down, Gunter!" he added sharply, turning to his acolyte.

"I certainly am, sir" Gunter Rheims replied, in the language that all servants used to their supposed superiors. "And may I be so bold as to enquire, sir, as to what these ingredients are?"

"You may, by Sigmar, indeed you may." The older man smiled fondly at the younger wizard. "By the way, this Goulash is really excellent, quite excellent! I do hope that you don't leave my service any time soon, though I fear that your skills may well be up to the job soon enough."

"Thank you very much indeed, sir." Acolytes, as a rule, were attatched to older, wiser wizard until deemed fit to progress with their powers alone. This gave the older wizards not only an opportunity to pass on their skills and expertise, but also to have some free domestic service. In turn, the acolytes received knowledge, both in magic and in more practical tasks. "Now, sir, what is this great plan of yours?" Gunter asked, scrabbling for his notebook.

"It is simplicity itself, my dear Gunter. The plan is to get the Nemesis Crown."

"Indeed sir?"

"Yes, indeed. Last night, as you well recall, I spent the evening thinking. Thinking and writing."

Gunter resisted the temptation to add "And drinking" to the list of activities, even though it was entirely true.

"And I came up with a scheme. One which would really get the snobs and fools in the college to sit up and take notice! No offence meant, of course," he added hastily. "I know that your father is one of the upper men."

"Indeed he is, sir," the acolyte responded, hiding his growing impatience under a mask of civility. "And what is this scheme?"

"I was just getting to that! Oh dear dear dear, the haste of youth these days. When I was a stripling, they let their elders finish their grandiose speeches, but now?" He left his own question unanswered, but continued just the same. "The plan to get the Nemesis Crown runs thus. Firstly, I peruse the maps that we have available to us as to the location of the Crown. Secondly, we exit the city, and raise a certain large amount of funds. This should not prove to be a problem: I was left a fairly large inheritance by my father, and we can both employ the necessary alchemy at need." Both men shuddered. Despite their status as alchemists, actually turning base metals in to gold was considered beneath any wizard worth his salt. But, as the saying goes, if that's how the winds blow, then so be it.

"And the third part of the plan, sir?"

"Now, this is the most ingenious part, Gunter, the most ingenious 'pon my soul! Take in to account that the world's military forces are probably on the march even now, trying to take the crown in the name of everyone from the Emperor to the Orcs. And also take in to account that this would probably prevent us from obtaining the crown alone, not to mention whatever nasty monsters are congregating around it. So, with due reference to the high levels of finance available to us, we build our own army! We go to some rough place- I don't know, like Marienburg, the ruffians seem to go there in great number- and start hiring mercenaries! I have commanded men before. I could do so again!" And before Gunter quite knew what to say, his master revealed that he has already packed and had saddled the horses. This, all things considered, was quite an achievement.

And so, the Black band was wrought. Upon the pride and ambition of one man would hundreds of men march to war, and thousands of lives be lost. Such has, is, and always will be the nature of war.


End file.
